Éomer 2,0
by mrscvdl
Summary: In the midst of battle, the ground below him cracks open. Éomer plunges through the ground as the black gates of Mordor falls. He prepares to meet a certain death, only to wake up far, far away. How will he adjust to everything new? Will he get the pretty girl? Will he make it back on time?
1. Chapter 1

I'm not going to spend an awful amount of effort trying to decipher the scientific or even slightly realistic perspective of this. That means I do not take such things as immune systems, the science of time and space travel etc into consideration. I hope you can all read it as it is intended, in good fun. Please enjoy and as always, please share your thoughts and if you do, know that I am deeply appreciative of you taking the time. Also, I do take the liberty to butcher some elvish here, some at will, some because I simply don't know any better. Be forgiving. I use old English in place of Rohirric in a few places too. ~ _MRSCVDL_

* * *

Chapter 1

 _Enemies flooded through the gates of Mordor. Victory of men slipped further and further away from their grasp by each passing moment. The shadow spread like a black wildfire across the landscape, threatening to spread to the edge of the world, engulfing everything in its path. The army of the west was the only thing standing between the shadow and the utter defeat and destruction of men. So they fought, like those with nothing left to lose._

Éomer, king of Rohan eyed the orc at his feet. The nasty creature still twitched and wreathed in a futile attempt to defy death. The king of the north drove his sword into its throat in an act of undeserved mercy. He found himself atop a slight hill some ways from the center of the battle. The hillside lay scattered with corpses and carcasses, only he still stood. He allowed himself a moment to catch his breath. As he looked down at the field below he was overcome by fear and doubt. The army he fought for seemed pitiful in the midst of all the darkness. His eyes traveled southward, through the black gates in hopes of finding a sign of relief. His thoughts went to the two halflings somewhere in the heart of evil. All his hope now lay with them.

There was a great rumble and Éomer felt the ground move like a wave under his feet. Soon came another. The eyes of men and foe alike searched the reason why the earth sighed in such a manner. Perhaps the creatures of Mordor sensed something men did not because before long most of them scattered. They ran like rats abandoning a sinking ship. There was a loud boom and a pillar of smoke and fire rose from inside the gates. The earth trembled with fear and with anger. Éomer lost his balance where he stood. He slid down the hillside, clawing at the bodies he tumbled over, attempting to slow his fall. It was not a steep hillside but nevertheless he felt no urge to hit the ground below at great speed. Another deafening boom came, followed by the thunderous noise of stone shattering. Éomer did not know it then, but what he heard, was the black gates collapsing.

Like a mouth of a great beast the ground beneath him opened with a roar. His fingers desperately fought to grab hold of something but failed him. He kept plunging toward the great gap in the ground and as he slid over the edge his flailing arms caught hold of nothing and he fell.

The strangest notion came over him as he fell. Time seemed to slow down and silence filled his ears. He prepared himself for meeting death. It would be swift and definite once he hit the bottom of the clove. The gap above him, where he could make out the sky turned into sliver as he fell. Soon the sliver was beyond sight and there was only darkness and yet he fell.

A peace came over him and he closed his eyes. His mind filled with pictures of home, of happier times. He smelled the dewy grass of spring in Rohan. He thought not of houses, of rank or of worldly things. Instead he felt as one would during the first swim in the lake in summer, or when the warmth of a fire first prickles ones freezing skin, or receiving a mother's comfort as a hurting child. Soon he thought no more, he sensed no more, he perceived nothing no more, but yet he was falling.


	2. Chapter 2

Éomer felt heavy drops of rain hit his face and his hands touched the wet ground. His eyelids fluttered open. He laid on his back, above him he saw the star studded night sky framed by the silhouettes of tall tree tops. He listened intently but heard nothing but the rustling of the wind through the trees. It smelled of fresh spring rain, yet different. He knew not what difference it was, but he found trying to pin point it was like trying to describe a color one had never seen. Watching the sky above he could make out the bright seven stars. With some effort he sat up. He did not suffer a great deal of pain, but he felt beyond weary. The rain kept pouring down but it did not become him.

His eyes adjusted to the night as he scanned his surrounding and found nothing familiar about them. Finging himself on the edge of a field, surrounded by what seemed like tall pine trees, he knew he was no longer in Dagorland, he was no where near Mordor and he was alone. There was no point in worrying about how he got there, where his friends were or whether or not they still lived before he even knew where he was. He must find shelter and then a sense of location, before he would even let his mind tread down that path. He stood on trembling legs. Weary from battle, hunger and thirst. He recalled falling into the great gap in the ground. He remembered how he kept falling until darkness overwhelmed him. After that he recalled nothing until the heavy rain had awoken him here. He had lost his sword in the fall but was relieved to find his dagger sheathed in his belt.

Among the trees he saw peculiar towers that stood in a straight row yet quite far from one another. They seemed to be no more than framework with a number of ropes tightened between them. How strange they stood among the trees, so strangely unaffected by the wind. His eyes followed the towers and ropes as well as he could in the dark. Further away, across the field and between the trees he could make out a cluster of lanterns burning. With no idea where he was or in what direction he ought to go, it seemed as good a goal as any.

He walked along the edges of the field to conceal himself in the shadows, he had no way of knowing what hid in the night. As he came closer, the farm became clearer. There was a log house, a barn and a couple of shack surrounding a yard. On every building lanterns burned unaffected by the heavy down pour. He paused in the shadows and studied the area for a moment. He could no longer see any of the peculiar towers, yet their ropes reached all the way to the buildings, seemingly disappearing into each of them. Light flooded through glass-covered windows in the log house. He thought it must be a wasteful amount of lanterns and hearths burning in there. Yet no smoke rose from the chimney, it was very odd indeed. He inched closer with great care as to not alert anyone of his presence just yet. He snuck up to the corner of the barn and kept kept out of the light dome created from the lantern that burned not far from him. His eyes sought the source of the light.

It was a small flame, captured in a globe of glass. The flame floated, perfectly still within and shone with an immense power. As he looked to the other lanterns around the area he noticed the lack of movement in them too. He thought it must be some sort of magic, he knew no other way to capture light in this way. Éomer was not conversant with magic. Éorlingas in general had little interest of the practice of elves and wizards. Such an interest would have been wasted on men of his kind since they possessed no ability to wield the power.

He saw no traces of elves in this place so he figured there was a great risk he had entered the dwelling of either wizard or some other unthinkable creature practicing sorcery. None of the latter was of the kind he wished to have dealings with. Men as a whole tended to avoid them with good reason. Apart from Master Gandalf he had little experience of it but the tales he knew, spoke of fickle tempered yet powerful beings with little love or patience for his kind.

With the rain whipping his face he pondered his next move. Perhaps he could find shelter in the barn? Maybe even something to eat. If it was good enough for horses and cattle, it would likely fill him too. The light from the cottage was alluring, it seemed so warm and welcoming, yet the mere suspicion of wizardry deterred him.

Éomer jerked at the sound of the barn door creaking. Out from the barn stepped a short and slender being holding a coat above their head to fend off the rain. The person called out, it was a woman's voice. She held a rod in her hand with with a captured flame in one end of it. She wielded it left and right and it cast a vertical pillar of light in front of it. He pressed himself up against the wall as the woman kept calling out a word he did not understand. Was she calling for him? A rustle came from the darkness not far from where he stood and a cat bolted towards the woman. She bent down and picked it up. She talked to it and though Éomer did not make out any words he could tell it was encouraging. She had found what she was looking for, and it was not him.

He looked to the sky again and found comfort in the seven stars. It was the only recognizable thing to him. After only a short moment he followed the barn wall to the back of the building. Away from the light and away from the house. He found an unlocked backdoor and stepped inside. He had entered a stable. Two horses lifted their heads and stared right at him. The stable was lit by two of the captured flames and as familiar as he was with stables, he found this one to be no less strange than the rest of this place. It indeed contained items one would expect. There were reins and saddles , buckets and broom. He took a closer look at the reins and saddles. They were quite like the ones he rode with but he marveled at the craftsmanship. Every cut was flawless, every stitch perfectly fashioned. To his vast knowledge, no man's hand could produce such impeccable work.

He picked up a blue bucket from the floor. It weighed almost nothing in his hand. It was much different from the wooden buckets he was used to. This one was smooth, almost as if it was made out of starched silk, and never had he known anyone to waste precious pigments on such things as stable buckets. His eyes fell on the hay fork that stood leaned against the wall. A robust wooden handle and a somewhat rusty fork. He ran his hand down it as to assure himself there was nothing odd about it, it was the first real familiar thing he had seen since waking up in this strange place.

The horses had grown tired of watching him by now and was back to munching on their hay.

Along the wall stood a big wooden box. Éomer opened the lid and found oats. He took the scoop from the box, it too made in the same strange ways as the buckets. In the horses stalls he found water and helped himself to a scoop full. He grabbed a handful of grain and poured it into his mouth. It was dry as dust and tasted slightly from mold. He chewed as best he could before swallowing it down with water. He did it a few times until he could not muster anymore in hopes that he would escape hunger for a while longer.

A doorway led out of the stables and into the greater part of the barn. The lanterns in the stables cast just enough light for him to be able to make out the large hayloft. He climbed it until he reached the top. There in the corner he dug a small hole to keep him hidden. He spread out his cloak and laid down. Many issues awaited him in the morning but for now he settled for having shelter. He closed his eyes and was soon lulled to sleep by the steady down pour outside.


	3. Chapter 3

Éomer awoke when the woman stepped through the creaking barn door below. Slivers of sunlight peeked through smalls cracks in the wall of the windowless and dim barn. Her steps disappeared into the stables and Éomer, who had been still to conceal his presence poked his head up to get a view of the floor below. He heard her make pleasant small talk with the horses as she tended to them. Soon she emerged with the hay fork in her hand. She paused in the doorway and touched a white box on the wall next to her. Éomer heard a clicking noise in the same instant as a lantern ignited. It hung in a black rope from a beam at the bottom of the loft. The woman took a great load of hay on the fork and returned to the stables. Before leaving the hay loft she stretched out her elbow and touched the white box once more, and the light died off in a blink of an eye.

Éomer did not move as long as the woman was in the barn. Once she left he waited some time still before climbing down the tall hill of hay. He was mesmerized by the little white box on the wall and thus walked straight over to it. From the box ran a white rope that was nailed to the wall. His eyes followed it upward, across the lower ceiling and to another box on the opposite wall from which the black rope extended. With great hesitation he placed his fingers on the box. Nothing happened. No clicking noise came and no light came on. He moved his fingers around and tried pushing and there it was. His mouth fell open. He pushed again and the light came off. Again he pushed and on it came.

'What kind of sorcery is this?' he mumbled. Every time he pushed, the light obeyed. He knew of no magic so easily maneuvered by a mere man.

The barn door flew open and there stood the woman. With a loud and firm voice she spoke to him.  
Éomer stared down a black pipe of some sort, its handle resting in her firm grip. She was much shorter than he. Brown, unruly curls bounced on her shoulders. Her coat came down to her knees, it had metal buttons and unlaced strings fell down her chest. Her breeches were inappropriately snug around her legs and they were stuffed into her boots. Éomer's eyes lingered on her boots. Drops of water rested on top of them without being soaked up and the shafts stood straight up without any lacing holding them in place around her legs. He had never seen boots quite like them.

'Mistress forgive me. I mean no harm.' he said. She fell silent and studied him for a brief moment. As he did not understand her, it was obvious she did not understand him.

'I sought only shelter.' he tried again. She looked no less confused, she merely took a firmer grip on the item in her hand and spoke again and once again he failed to understand her.

'I mean no harm.' he tried in Rohirric, but it did not help him. He tried again, this time in his poor version of elvish and he caught her attention.

As her focused shifted her grip faltered, if only for an instant and ever so slightly. Though she seemed unaware, Éomer was not and it told him that she was no fighter. No warrior would ever let that happen. She may not be a warrior but she may yet be a sorceress so Éomer did not lower his guard.

After careful consideration, he fished up his dagger from his belt and tossed it at her feet. Then he raised his hands in the air to show he was yielding. Against magic a dagger would be a pitiful defense. His best chance, he concluded, was to win the girl's trust. She stared at the dagger on the floor with furrowed brows before bending down to pick it up. As she ran her fingers over the edge her eyes widened at its sharpness. Red spots appeared on her cheeks. Was she surprised to find it sharp?  
' _What man carries a dull blade?'_ Éomer thought.

She growled something at him and waved the thing in her hand. Éomer did not understand the words but he did indeed understand she was threatening him.

'Av-'osto, híril Goheno nin, nányë mellon, _fear not lady, forgive me I am a friend.'_ he said.

Her narrowed eyes were fixed on him.

'Lle lakweinen? _Are you jesting?'_ she said at length.

'Pedig edhellen? _Do you speak elvish?'_ he said.

She grimaced in reply then shrugged her shoulders while nodding. He thought she was trying to say 'a little'.

'Lle rangwa amin? _You understand me?'_ he said to which she nodded in reply.

'Mellon. _Friend.'_ he said. Keeping it short and to the point to make it easier for her to follow. She bit her lip and tightened her grip on the handle. She did not believe him, that much was clear. Though what maiden would not do well in suspecting an intruder. Ever so slowly he turned around in front of her all the while pointing to his belt as to say, 'you've got my only weapon, I will not harm you.'

Once he faced her again, he placed his hand on his chest.

'Éomer i eneth nín. _Éomer is my name.'_

She looked confused. He pointed at himself.

'Éomer.'

'Éomer.' she said.

To his great surprise she burst out laughing and then spoke at length in her own tongue. Éomer did not follow, he did not understand why his name brought her mirth. She did no longer point her metal item at him, instead she gestured over his armor and nodded and chuckled. If she knew of him, the appropriate thing to do would be to bow, rather than laugh at him.  
Suddenly she looked at him with anticipation. She must have asked him a question though he had no chance of knowing. She repeated herself and Éomer shrugged and shook his head to tell her he could not understand. She sighed.

'L-a-r-p-i-n-g?' she said slowly and with great enunciation. She acted as if he very well should understand her but he just shrugged once more. She rolled her eyes at him.

'Mankoi naa lle sinome? _Why are you here?_ ´she said at length.

'Mi van me? _Where are we?'_ he said.

She seemed taken aback from his question. 'Woodgrove.' she said

He had never heard of a place called Woodgrove.

'Saig. Aes? _Hungry. Food?'_ he said at last while using body language to underline what he was saying.

'Saig. _Hungry._ Boe enni dulu. _I need help._ ' he said.

'Dulu?' Abigail said.

'Boe enni dulu.' he said again holding his hand to his chest and inclining his head once more to show humility and respect.

She shoved the metal item into her waistline and waved for him to follow her.

The sun had climbed half way up the sky as they stepped out of the barn. It was a clear day, only the deep puddles told of last night's downpour. He now saw much more of the place than he had in the darkness of night. The log house was a somewhat familiar sight. Yet it seemed in much better condition than most he had seen. He noticed that the roofing was different. It was covered in what seemed like thin, wavy bricks rather than the green roofs he was used to. On the steps to the house the cat he had seen yesterday lay and watched them as they approached. As they stepped passed him, the cat made a point out of ignoring them.

 _'At least some things are the same.'_ Éomer thought to himself.

They stepped into a common room. The first thing that struck him was the glass-covered windows on two out of four walls. The daylight poured into the room. He concluded the girl must be some kind of high born, else the house would not hold such extravagance. The room was warm though no fire burned in the hearth in the corner. He was overwhelmed by all the colors. There were drapery in each window. Blankets and small, square pillows made of marvelous fabrics. His eyes stopped at the padded bench in the middle of the room. He walked up to it and ran his hand along it. Made from the softest of leather it too showed the same magnificent craftsmanship as the saddles had. Even the backrest was well padded. He could not even begin to guess the purpose of most of the artifacts he saw scattered about the room.

The girl's voice brought him out of his marvel. When he turned around she pinched her nose at him. She thought he smelled. He had never endured such a rude remark from a lady and knew not how to offer a proper response. She ripped open her coat and hung it on a peg on the wall. How had she managed to rip it like that with only one hand and why would someone undress in such a manner? She eyed him and held up her hand.

'Esta sinome. _Rest here.'_ she said and Éomer assumed she wished him to wait rather than rest so he did while she disappeared into a room on the far wall of the common room. In the meantime, Éomer carefully investigated her coat. Along the rip were little metal teeth, like cogs on a cogwheel only he could not figure out how they'd hook together. Next to the coat hung a painting on the wall. He studied it. It depicted Abigail and a man. Though her eyes were hidden behind black screens on the painting, he recognized her. They both looked happy, they were laughing and her hair was caught in the wind. He looked closer but no matter how he tried he could not trace any brushstrokes, indeed he could find no trace of a hand at all. The painting was as much else here, flawless.

The woman appeared again, carrying a bundle of folded garbs in her arms that she placed atop the drawers near him. She gestured over his body. He looked down on himself, he did not quite understand what she was trying to tell him. She mimicked taking off her coat once again and pointed up and down him.

Éomer looked down on his armor. Did the woman imply he should strip to his linen garbs right here? When he did nothing, the girl stepped towards him. Her movements were full of hesitation, as if she feared coming too close. He tried not to challenge her, instead he attempted to relax, give her a sense of his humility. At last she approached him, he dared not breathe in case he would startle her. Startle a sorceress did not seem like a good idea. She studied his armor and soon her eyes locked at the buckle to his vambrance. Her eyes met his and he could almost smell her fear. Then with hesitant hands she reached out and unbuckled his right one. She took it in her hand and traced the leather work with her finger. She seemed captured by the horse-heads adorning it.  
He kept his gaze on her as he rid himself of his left one and handed it over to her. She placed both on the floor in front of the drawer. He continued to unbuckle his pauldrons and his chest plate. He wiggled out of his ring mail and handed it to her. It filled her arms and she wobbled from the weight of it before letting it slide to the floor with a rattle. Éomer stifled a smile at the sight. Soon he stood dressed only in linen garbs. He did not prefer it, but it seemed it was what she had demanded and he was not in a position to oppose.

She grabbed the bundle from atop the drawers and went to open the door on the wall behind her then gestured for him to step through. What met him astonished him. The room was covered in perfectly squared, white polished stone. There was a seat carved from the same polished stone as well as a tub and a basin. The taps were of the most incredible polished silver and even her tub had drapery. This was the home of a high born indeed. The woman placed the folded, clean garbs atop the seat.

He looked up and startled as he saw himself in the looking glass on the wall. Never had he seen himself so clearly. Every detail was there and there was not even the slightest hint of distortion or discolor. The sight that met him also made him understand why she wished him to wash off. He was covered in filth, mud and black, dry blood and he had about as much hay as hair on his head.

The girl turned a knob above the tub. Suddenly water spurted out of a big tap further up on the wall. Éomer let out surprised grunt at the sight and the girl's confusion seem to grow. She ran her hand underneath the pouring water for a second while Éomer only stared in amazement. She grabbed the bar of soap from the basin and handed it to him. He smelled it and it smelled of roses, another familiar thing to him and he appreciated it. Then she pointed to a soft, big cloth that hung on the wall and mimicked drying her arm off on it. Éomer nodded, this he understood.  
She hesitated for a moment before putting her hand to her chest,

'Abigail.' she said.

She had offered her name. Éomer found it comforting. He found it odd to bathe in a house when he did not know the name of his hostess.

'Arwen en amin Abigail. _My lady Abigail.'_ he said and gave a small bow.

She acknowledged his words with a slight smile before she walked out and closed the door.

Éomer dropped his garbs on the floor and before stepping into the tub, he too ran his hand under the streaming water. It was warm. He knew not how this woman could make hot water come out of her wall but at this point he found he did not much care how. He stepped in and let the water rinse him off. The dirt seem to melt off him. What filth the water failed to get off, he rubbed off with the bar of soap. One would not find many men smelling of roses but the choice between smelling like a woman or an orc was not a particularly difficult one. As soon as he was clean enough, he turned the knob as Abigail had and the water started spurting out with even greater force. He tried turning it the other way and soon enough the water seized.

He dried himself of on the big cloth and then picked up the clothes she had left for him. The breeches was made from a very soft, shiny fabric. They were black and down each side of the legs ran a wide, white line with three small black lines in the middle. A very odd fashion indeed. He traced the lines but found they held no purpose. Someone had stitched them on there for the sheer look of it. Usually when people bothered to adorn clothing with embroidery, it was of a more intricate sort than this. Just like the saddles and the padded bench though, the stitches were almost unnervingly straight. He pulled the breeches on and found that no belt nor lace was needed. They were sown in a way that held them up by themselves and they were most comfortable. The tunic she had given him was no less odd. It had only short sleeves and no lacing in the neck. He did not know how she figured he'd get his head through the small neckline but he gave it a try and the hem gave way enough for his head to pass through. Once dressed he again studied himself in the looking glass. The tunic was tight. Not at all like his own. This one snugged around his arms and chest and left little to the imagination. It was bright blue and had some sort of symbol on the chest. It was a diamond shaped crest in bright yellow that depicted a red symbol of some sort. To Éomer it looked like a red, slithering serpent. Perhaps it was the coat of arms of her family, but a family who chooses to distinguish themselves with a serpent did not seem like folks he did well in trusting.

* * *

 _**** And so began the butchering of elvish._ _Sorry to all you people who might know better. ~MRSCVDL_


	4. Chapter 4

When Éomer stepped outside the washroom, Abigail was there awaiting him. She showed him into the kitchen where food awaited him on the set table. Above the table hung an unlit lantern and he followed the rope from which it hung and soon found the white box on the wall. He could not resist. He pushed it and again enjoyed the sensation of mastering the magic. Abigail chuckled at him and shook her head. She pulled out the chair as to ask him to sit down, and he did. In front of him lay perfectly squared pieces of bread with thin slices of meat between them. A tall tankard made from sheer glass was filled with something white. He sniffed it and took a small sip. It was milk. He offered her a smile as a sign of gratitude and dug in. The bread was not what he was used to. It was lighter and felt as if it melted in his mouth. The meat tasted odd too. Only fortune knew what animal he ate, it could well be one he had never heard of. How strange to cut meat so thin to place atop bread. He was used to gnawing the meat off the bones and then eating his bread with creamy butter. Nonetheless he was grateful since his hunger had gone from being a nuisance to painful.

Abigail sat down across from him. In her hand she held a steaming mug. He would have guessed it was tea, but it was far from certain in this strange place. The mug was adorned with motifs of flowers and trees. Again he marveled at the craftsmanship that this place displayed. The girl seemed more relaxed now. Not so weary of him. Perhaps his clean demeanor helped.

'Any news from the east?' Éomer tried between bites of bread. He must find out what happened.

'East?' she said, having picked up only the one word.

'Aye. East. Mordor? Battle?'

She pointed to his food, urging him to eat rather than talk, he obliged. Once he had finished, he thanked her and she understood because she offered a smile in response. She took the tankard he had been drinking from. Brought it to another basin and opened the tap. Water rushed out of it and she rinsed it off. It wasn't until now Éomer paid heed to all the strange things in this room. She noticed how he eyed it all in wonder. She walked up to the strangest one. A white box with four black circles on top. She turned one of multiple knobs on the front of it and held her hand over the closest black circle. She made him come over and he followed her example. He could feel heat rise from it. She studied his face and then opened a cupboard and brought out a kettle that she placed on top of the circle. It was a cooking hearth. He understood that now, though he had absolutely no means of understanding where the fire hid and how the heat traveled to the black circles. She smiled at his bewilderment as she took him by the arm and led him to a big white cupboard on the opposite wall. She opened it and placed his hand inside. It was cold. The cupboard contained food, this he could judge from the cheese and the strange, red bottle with a painted tomato on the front. The cupboard hummed and buzzed as if it hid a beehive inside its walls. She had a cold cupboard for keeping food fresh, it was nothing short of fantastic. That was until she opened the one underneath and Éomer saw ice. He saw meats and vegetables frozen solid. He touched the wall and it was so cold it pricked his fingers. Never had he thought one could see solid ice inside of a warm house.

Abigail's previous hesitation towards him had turned into what resembled amusement. He did not understand why she would find him amusing but he was starting to see that it might stem from his inadequacy. She was so comfortable in this environment that he knew nothing of. She showed him into yet another room of the house. It was a small study, judging from the desk and the bookshelves that lined the wall. Atop the desk sat a strange box with a glass front of the same kind that he had seen out in the common room. Only this one had a board full of symbols in front of it. He wanted to investigate but she clearly wished to show him something so he fought the urge. From a book she pulled a piece of parchment folded multiple times. She cleared space atop the desk and unfolded it. It was a map of Middle Earth. He nodded eagerly and pointed to Dagorland and the black gate.

'Man siniath? _What news?_ '

Abigail looked at him for a long while, he felt scrutinized. She pointed to Edoras and then looked at him.

'Éomer?' she said.

Éomer had introduced himself, why did she not believe him? He eyed her,

'Aye.' he said. 'Rohan.' Then he once again insisted on asking for news of the battle.

'Gurth enin goth. _Death to the enemy._ ' she said.  
It seemed strange to state a common battle cry he thought, then realized she was likely trying to answer his question. Though he had no means to know to what enemy she was referring.

'Numen.. tûr.. _West.. victory.._ ' she continued. 'Frodo.. tûr..'

The mentioning of Frodo's name caught his attention. It had been but a day, if news of the ring bearer had reached her, they cannot be more than a day's ride away.

'Frodo?' he said. She nodded and placed her finger on the Shire, then she continued to trace the path of the ring bearer all the way to Mount Doom.

'Frodo tûr.' she said again.

Éomer found it hard to believe that tales of the halflings whereabouts had already spread wide and far.

'Woodgrove?' he asked and gestured over the map. ' _Where are we?'_

Abigail stared at the map on the table, then at him. She shook her head.

'Woodgrove?' he tried again and she replied by raising her eyebrows and shaking her head once more.

She asked him to stay put and left briefly, only to return with another, larger, piece of paper. As she put it down in front of him he saw that it too held a map. She then pointed to a location, looked at him and said;

'Woodgrove.'

Éomer looked closer, trying to find his homeland, Gondor or any part that he recognized but found none.

'Ennor? ' _Middle Earth?'_ he said.

She pointed to the first map.

'Ennor.' she said. Then she made a gesture as to say 'you and I' and pointed to the one she had brought. 'Sí. _Here.'_

Éomer furrowed his brow. He did not understand what she was trying to say. He had never seen the map she presented. What part of Middle Earth could it be that he was unfamiliar with? He pushed the thought on how he got there away from his mind. No use in dwelling on it, first he must understand where this Woodgrove lay.

She took a chair that stood against the wall and placed it infront of the desk and offered him to sit. Then she pushed on the box atop the desk and suddenly the window came alive. Éomer jerked and stared in disbelief as symbols appeared. It was as if someone printed each symbol and they came and went in an awful haste. Abigail watched him closely, her expression unreadable. The box buzzed and soon a painting appeared. It was as flawless as the one that hung on the wall, how ever she had placed it inside the box he did not know. It depicted an older gentleman. He seemed to be wearing some sort armor, ' _If so,'_ thought Éomer. _'it is one of those ceremonial armors.'_ The man's chest was adorned with multiple large coins, or amulets. Éomer thought he looked regal. Only kings would wear such adornments.

'Ada. _Father._ ' Abigail said and pointed to the man in the picture.

'Aran?' _King?'_ said Éomer and Abigail smiled and shook her head.

'Maethor. _Warrior.'_ she said.

Abigail traced her finger on the board of symbols in front of her and suddenly what looked like the tip of an arrow moved over the painting. Éomer's eyes widened. He looked at her hand, then to the arrow. She watched him. She tapped her finger and another image filled the glass. She kept tapping and the images changed. There were no more paintings only symbols. Soon he recognized parts of them though. Sindarin. Behind the glass he could now see the full set of Sindarin symbols.  
She tapped on the board and a row of her strange letters emerged behind the glass. Right below the row of foreign symbols, elvish words were formed.

' _Do you believe this is Middle Earth?'_ it read.

Éomer nodded and shot her a glance, was this girl delusional? Where else would they be?

' _It is not.'_ she tapped out. ' _I can get you..'_ she paused and looked at him as if pondering her next word. '... _a healer?'_ she tapped and Éomer shook his head. He needed no healer, he needed a way back. He looked at the glass where the sindarin symbols were listed and then pointed at them to spell out what he wanted to say.

' _How far lay Mordor?'_ he spelled out.

 _'How did you get here?'_ she tapped, ignoring his question.

So they sat. It was a tedious way of communicating but the only one they had. He told her of the battle of the Black Gate, how the ground had opened and how the next thing he knew he was here. She said that Middle Earth was only a tale and insisted that he needed to speak to a healer. The day passed into evening and they still sat in front of the box, pointing and tapping. She had knowledge of his life that he found surprising. When she recited his meeting with Aragorn, Gimli and Legolas in the plains of Rohan he got uneasy. She knew of the council of Elrond and what gifts the Lady Galadriel had given the fellowship. She knew much. He had heard that the lady of Lothlorien possessed abilities to delve in men's minds and found no comfort in the notion that Abigail may posses such powers.

* * *

Abigail stared at the man beside her. He had come from nowhere. Hiding in her barn. She had thought him some stray larper though she deemed him a little too old for such hobbies. Besides she lived much too far away from any neighborhood to come across people in her yard. The only ones she ever saw were the postman and the very occasional state employee of other profession.

The man had refused to speak anything but elvish and it had annoyed her at first. Soon she had started to accept it was their means of communicating. Everything about this man was strange. He was tall, his shoulders as wide as she'd ever seen. Her brother's Superman t-shirt stretched to its breaking point over his chest. No chips-finger teen grew into such a man in their mom's basement. It scared her a little. She would stand no chance against this giant other than shooting him. Now he claimed he was from Middle Earth. He was clearly delusional, yet he had presented her with nothing but kindness and humility. He had in truth given her no reason to fear him, but as a rule, and as a woman, she feared any strange man who's motives were unclear. This man was strange but he needed help and Abigail had always had a soft spot for people who diverged from the norm. Perhaps because she herself had spent her life not fitting in among her peers.

Her family had moved from town to town even country to country due to her father's career. She had tried to made friends at first but soon gave up. There had been no point since they would pack up and move as soon as she had befriended someone. She'd had her brother Sam, that was it. After their father's passing, he too had gone off and joined the army leaving her and her mother behind. It was only a year after that her mother lost her battle with cancer and Abigail was left alone. Sam had been home for the funeral but that was the last time she'd seen him. With her inheritance she'd bought this little farm and created the haven she had always wanted though she missed Sam, now more than ever.

Sam would have her call the police without delay, this she knew deep down. Yet something made her hesitate. This man, who called himself Éomer had so earnestly asked for her help that she had been unable to deny him. He was intriguing. Perhaps her long love of Tolkien's work was aiding him in that. ' _But,'_ she thought. _'If I find a friend who's as crazy about this stuff as I am, should I deny myself that? Should I call the cops on him?'_

The man seemed almost agitated by her knowledge of Middle Earth. He had asked her the outcome of the battle, and she had replied. This had painted his face with both relief and fear. Therefor she reached for her copy of The Return Of The King. His eyes fell on the front where the ring verse was printed. She could see how this made him clench his jaw. He looked at her and his eyes held no kindness in that moment.

' _You're story is written here. All of it.'_ she tapped and handed him the book. With hesitation he opened it. He studied the map on the first page for a short while, then he flipped through the pages. Abigail saw how the pages went blank a little more than half way through the book. She snatched the book from his hands and flipped through the end herself. Blank page after blank page was staring back at her.

'What the hell!' she said. 'It was here. I've read it a million times. It should be here!' She flipped the pages back and forth a few more times, unable to comprehend how printed text could just disappear from book pages.

Éomer stared at her, he did not understand a word of what she was saying. She drew a deep breath to calm her self and then wrote;

' _It was here. I've read it many times. These pages contained the story.'_

Éomer followed the translation on the screen closely. She picked the book back up and flipped to the page where it first went black. When she read the last few sentences she could feel the color draining from her face.

' _This is where the black gate falls.'_ she tapped out on the keyboard. ' _The story ends the moment you fell, Éomer, but it did not use to.'_

Something was wrong, very wrong. Her and Éomer eyed each other in silence, both experiencing utter disbelief. They sat right next to each other yet she sensed they were indeed, worlds apart. Though she did not believe that he was in fact from Middle Earth, she avoided answering his question about how it ended. She'd read and seen enough sci-fi to know that such knowledge is not always a blessing. Something in her mind told her to hold on to it for now.

 _'In case it turns out he is in fact Éomer of Rohan.'_ she thought and had to stifle a snicker at her own ridiculousness.

Her animals came into her mind and she welcomed the distraction.

' _Feed the horses.'_ she wrote and he nodded. His finger pointed to the Sindarin letters and she spelled out what he was saying.

' _I wish to return to were I awoke.'_ he said.

'Yeah, I'd sure love to see that too.' she said aloud while nodding at him.


	5. Chapter 5

Outside dusk had cast it's soft shadows over the landscape. The horses were restless when they entered the stables. Perhaps they had waited too long for their supper but Éomer sensed there was something else stirring them. He had seen horses act this way more times than he cared to count but he remained silent and calm as to not alarm Abigail. The animals would have to await their meal for some time yet. First the stalls were mucked out and the horses brushed clean of dust and hay. Éomer tended to the chestnut gelding, while Abigail focused on the gray mare.  
Éomer ran the brush in firm, wide strokes over the animal's flank.

'You are too scrawny for a gelding' he murmured to the horse in his native tongue. 'Isn't she working you?' he petted the horses neck. 'You wouldn't last in battle my friend.' The horse snorted at him. Éomer sensed Abigail's eyes at his back and he turned around to meet her gaze. When he did she swiftly returned to tending the mare, pretending like she had not noticed him.

Once they finished up in the stables, and the horses were munching away on their supper Éomer brought Abigail to the field behind the barn where he had first awoken. In silence they treadled across it. Abigail scampered ahead. She bent down in the tall grass and picked something up. As she turned around he saw she was holding his sword. She studied it, trailed her fingers along the bronze horse heads of the pommel and guard.

' _Gúthwinë.'_ she said.

'Aye.' he nodded. He made no claim to the sword, she had given no sign of intention to harm him so he had no wish to alarm her by arming himself.

Soon they reached the spot where he had awoken the night before. They could now see that there was burnt, black grass around where he had lay. Aside from that, nothing seemed odd. There were no telling of how he could have gotten there. They wandered around, eyes to the ground looking for something, anything.

'Éomer!' Abigail called out. He walked up to her where she stood by another, similar burnt spot on the ground. They eyed the surrounding area and started walking. Along the further end of the field they found a hand full of other burnt spots.

Éomer heard a crack coming from the wood. He held out a hand to stop Abigail from moving and placed a finger over his lips to tell her to stay silent. He listened intently for a short moment before he turned around and ushered Abigail back towards the farm with haste. She must have caught the urgency he felt for she obliged in an instant. They half-ran towards the trees that lay between them and the farm and just as they reached them, there was a snarl from the shadows. Éomer grabbed hold of the sword in Abigail's hand and pushed her to the ground.

Out from the shadows leaped an orc. The foul stench had preceded him. Éomer wasted no time but swung his sword. The blade cut through the neck of the creature and as its head rolled onto the ground the body slumped but an arms length away from Abigail. Black blood poured onto the pine covered ground and Abigail let out a scream that could have matched that of a Nazgûl. She scrambled backward until her back was pressed up against a tree trunk. Her eyes wide with terror.

Éomer eyed the shadows to assure himself no others were lurking there. Orcs seldom traveled alone and judging from the burnt spots on the ground, there would be more where this one came from. When he was sure the immediate danger was over, he knelt by the girl.

Her whole body was trembling and he could not catch her eyes. Though he knew she wouldn't understand he spoke to her.

'There, he's dead. Come on now. Come one.' he took her by the arms and pulled her up. Her eyes were fixed on the headless body on the ground. Her legs gave way underneath her and she collapsed in his arms. He swooped her up and carried her across the yard and back into the house.

He had placed her on the padded bench in the common room and wrapped a blanket around her shoulders. The girl's father may have been a warrior, but judging from her utter distress, it became evident to Éomer that she was not. She sat for awhile, calming herself down and Éomer could do nothing but wait.

She rose and walked into her study and he followed.

 _'What was that?'_ she tapped out.

' _An orc.'_ Éomer replied.

Abigail had many other questions and they sat there for some time. They agreed that the creature must have come the same way Éomer did. That meant that there were likely more of them out there, since they had multiple spots of burnt grass on the field. Éomer assured her he would get rid of the carcass and that he would keep watch through the night.

' _Rest easy.'_ he had spelled for her. ' _I won't let anything happen to you.'_

Later they had shared supper before a now armor clad Éomer walked outside with his sword by his side to sit watch through the night. He found it comforting, this wasn't his first night watch and for the first time since waking up in the field, it offered a sense of normality.

* * *

Abigail sat on her bed. After Éomer had gone outside she had come in there to undress and try to get some sleep, yet she seemed unable to do either. She just sat there, with her trembling hands in her lap, replaying the events in her mind. She had never seen anything like it in her whole life. It had been like something out of a well produced horror movie and the mere notion of more like it out there made it hard to breathe.

' _Why did I not bring my gun?'_ she thought. Then she started to doubt that it would have made any difference. She had been close to loosing consciousness. She had found herself absolutely paralyzed, it seemed unlikely that she would have had the sense to use it even had she had it. Yet Éomer had acted on instinct. He had seemed unfazed by the horror.

' _As if he's seen thousands of them before...'_ she thought. Never had she seen a man wield a sword in that way, she had never seen a man wield a sword at all. She had trouble carrying the weapon. It was both heavy and quite long, yet he had grabbed it by one hand and with one stroke severed the beasts head from its neck. Who even knew how to fight with a sword?

' _I'm going insane.'_ Abigail thought. ' _This is when I officially lose my mind.'_

 _S_ he thought of calling someone. But who would believe her? And what would happen to Éomer if anyone found him here? He was the only thing that stood between her and the nightmare roaming outside. She dared not risk it. He had been kind to her, helped her inside and spoken to her in a calming voice. The urge to scream and cry out of sheer horror had been strong but she had kept it at bay for his sake. She did not want to bother him further. He had killed for her, how could she ask for more? There was a thud next to her and Abigail's breath caught in her throat, it frightened her to silence. Not as much as a gasp came out. The cat glared at her from the floor. He had jumped down from her bedroom drawers and had little understanding for the terror she was displaying. Sleep was far away and she thought on Éomer who would spend the night outside on his own.


	6. Chapter 6

Éomer buried the carcass with a shovel he found in the barn then moved on to prepare himself a fire. Just as he finished stacking stones and wood for the make-do fire pit outside of Abigail's house, she emerged. She was still wrapped in her blanket, another blanket hung folded around her arm. Her metal-item poked up from her waistband and in her hands she carried two cups of steaming tea. She handed him a cup, then offered him the spare blanket which he gratefully accepted.

He placed both things beside him on the ground and knelt before the fire pit and grabbed his fire steel from the pouch he'd brought with him outside. Abigail lay her hand on his arm. Then she dug into her pocket and brought out a small, red cylinder. She flicked it a couple of times and then held a flame at her fingertips. She put it against the bark he had stuffed around the wood and soon the fire caught on. He stared at her in amazement. She handed the item over and he turned it around in his hand. He held it as she had and tried to mimic her flicking. Abigail adjusted his grip and then encouraged him to try again. It took a few tries before the flame ignited. He let go and the flame died down. He flicked again and the flame appeared. Getting a fire started could be quite a tedious task, but much less so if one had one of those fire starters. He would have to ask her about her magic come morning. There were so many things he wanted to know. Whatever magic she was wielding, he reckoned she sure had found ways to channel it into convenience. As much as he distrusted magic as a phenomenon, he was not all that against this usage of it. The fact that she had not been provoked to cast magic over the orc earlier puzzled him, a wielder of magic should not be so defenseless when life itself was at stake.

They sat in silence and sipped their tea since they had no means to communicate. Abigail then pointed to the fire.

'F-i-r-e.' she said. And then she pointed to her mug. 'C-u-p.'

Éomer smiled.

'Fire.' he said.

'Lígfýr.' he said then he pointed to his mug. 'beódfæt'

'... beódfæt' she repeated.

They continued pointing out things around them and naming them, each in their own tongue and the other would repeat. Boots. Blanket. Stone. Sword.. The late eve turned into night. Éomer wished he could ask her why she stayed out in the cold instead of getting some rest, but he had no means to do so. Perhaps she craved the company. She had been quite shaken by the orc and he thought she may worry about it haunting her dreams. Either way he did not mind her company.

A rustle among the tress made him alert. He hushed Abigail, though she had already fallen silent. Her eyes were wide with worry and she pulled out the thing from her waistband and clutched it in her hand. He could make out steps, either from a four-legged creature or more than one orc. He grabbed his sword that lay beside him and stood up. Soon the foul smell reached his nose. He gestured for Abigail to go inside and took a few light steps forward to meet the orcs. They had stopped moving, likely readying themselves for attack. He had not finished the thought before two of them came rushing out from the shadows. Snarling and grunting they raised their blades and launched for him. He evaded the first strike and slashed his sword to the arm of the other. It howled as the blade tore open a big gap in its flesh. Éomer spun around and drove the blade through the torso of the first one and swiftly kicked him away. As the orc landed on his back with a thud, a loud bang echoed through the air. Éomer turned back and had to step aside as the other orc fell forward to the ground where he had just stood, death painted on its face.

By the front steps of the house stood Abigail, she lowered the metal pipe in her hand while he looked to her.

On the shoulder of the dead beast at his feet, Éomer saw a hole. He bent down and eyed it closer. It was as wide as a small finger and almost perfectly round. Abigail walked up to him. With a hand on his shoulder she urged him to move back slightly. She aimed her pipe at the orcs head and another deafening bang went off. In its skull another hole appeared. Éomer investigated further but could not wrap his mind around it. Abigail tapped his shoulder and hunched down next to him. She flipped out the middle part and emptied its contents into her hand. There were small metal cones. She showed him how she put them back in, clicked the part in place. Above her hand was a pin that she pulled down. She took hold of his hand, wrapped her own over his. She lifted the pipe, pointed down the middle of the pipe, then pointed to a sign hanging on the wall of the barn. He felt her squeeze his hand and the loud bang came. He was unprepared for the force that met his palm but she held steady. They walked over to the wall and the hole was evident. She smiled at him, seemingly pleased with herself.

'Gun.' she said referring to the weapon.

'Gun.' he repeated.

Her weapon, this _gun_ was powerful. This is what she had been aiming towards him. She would have put a hole in his skull had he not been careful. What other powers lay hidden in plain sight? Éomer longed for the home he knew, where his ineptitude was not so blatant.


	7. Chapter 7

So Éomer had buried two more orcs that night. Two or three more remained alive, judging from the traces on the field but there had been no sign of them. Abigail had left him by the fire and gone to rest once she had calmed down from the attack. She was still sleeping he assumed. Éomer treaded around the farm. Searching for traces of the remaing orc's whereabouts but he found none. On the far side of the barn, he found a cage holding rabbits. There were four of them. He opened the cage and grabbed hold of one. With a quick twist he snapped its neck. Abigail had shown such hospitality towards him, he thought he could show his gratitude by having a meal prepared for when she awoke. He returned to the fire and tossed the rabbit on the ground then began to assemble a spit.

As the sun rose he turned the now roasting rabbit over the fire. He had just about concluded that it was ready when the door opened and Abigail stepped out. Her brown curls stood on end and her eyes were swollen from sleep. He did not even try to make sense of what she was wearing. Fuzzy boots that her feet just seem to slip into. Striped breeches and some knitted type of coat that must have been made for someone twice her size. Abigail looked at the meat on the spit and Éomer smiled at her as he removed it and tore off a piece to offer her. She came closer and took the meat from him as she sat down on a rock close by. She turned the piece of meat in her hand, sniffed it to Éomer's slight indignation and then tried some. Her face was unreadable, she chewed and looked at the chunk of meat he had now placed on a rock away from the fire. She pointed to it and said something in her own language. Éomer did not understand what she said. She pointed again and then gestured around the yard with a questioning look on her face. She wanted to know where he had gotten the meat. Éomer pointed to the far side of the barn. After a slight pause she dropped the meat in her hand, rose and trotted across the yard. Éomer set off after her. She had seemed displeased and he was afraid he had overstepped by taking the liberty to cook one of them for a morning meal.

When he caught up she stood staring at the three rabbits in their cage. She looked at him, her eyes darkened and she held up four fingers. Éomer just nodded and gestured towards the fire.

'Yes, I cooked the fourth.' he said in Rohirric. Tears welled up in her eyes, he had upset her, yet he could not understand quite how.

'Éomer,' she said and pointed to him. 'Abigail,' and she pointed to herself. Then she went on to point to each of the three rabbits. 'Sleepy, Sneezy, Dopey...' then she pointed towards the fire. 'Happy.'

She reached into the cage and brought one of the rabbits into her arms. She strokeits ears and kissed its head. Then she pointed at it again and said,  
'Dopey.'

It then dawned on Éomer. She had named her rabbits, that is what she was trying to convey, and that was why her eyes were sheathed with tears. He had been mistaken. Those rabbits weren't for eating, they were her friends. He swallowed, thinking how he would feel if someone fed him his own steed. How callous and cruel he must seem. He might not understand why anyone would keep food as friends but nonetheless she had. A chill clawed its way up his backbone. He wondered how much he had angered her and how she would choose to punish him for it. Would she put a hole in his skull?

Abigail wiped her tears and placed Dopey back with the other rabbits.

'Goheno nín. _Forgive me.'_ Éomer said with his hand to his chest. 'Goheno nín.'

Abigail drew a deep breath and smiled at him then put a hand on his arm.

'Gi mellonig. _You are my friend.'_ she said and walked back to the house, never looking at her roasted friend on the ground.


	8. Chapter 8

Éomer made sure there were no traces of his morning murder left in the yard and put out the fire before he headed inside. He found Abigail in the common room where she put down a pillow and a blanket atop the now sheet-covered, padded bench. She had made him a bed to rest in and it looked comfortable indeed. He had not slept at all and already the sun was at its peak. Since he had eaten 'Happy' for breakfast, he craved no food, only sleep. Next to the made bed lay his neatly folded linen garbs. She had washed them, though he did not understand when she would have had the time.

She swept her hand over the bed as to tell him to claim it and he gave her a smile and a nod in response. It was kind of her indeed to go through such trouble. Éomer had not counted on catching much sleep at all and he was not unfamiliar with going a couple of days without it. One did not sleep while risking one's life in doing so. He unbuckled his sword and she eyed him. He had held on to it through the night but now he offered it back to her. She looked at it for a moment and then shook her head and gave a slight smile before she left the room. Abigail trusted him with his weapon, he was grateful that he had manage to prove himself worthy of such a trust.

He woke up some hours later to a horrid noise coming from the kitchen. It sounded as if several blacksmiths dropped their tools all at once. Dazed he sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. Through the noise he could make out a rhythm.

' _Is this supposed to be music?'_ he thought, concluding that if so, it was the worst version of music he'd ever heard.

He got up and swiftly changed out of the clothes Abigail had given him to his own linen garbs. The tunic felt so light and airy in comparison to the snug one he'd worn since the other day. While untangling his hair with his fingers as best he could, he walked over to the kitchen. The noise came from a box sitting on the windowsill and all he could make out was the word 'rock'. Why they sang about rocks and stones he could not guess and he thought calling it singing at all was generous. Abigail did not notice him where he stood in the doorway. She was cooking something that smelled good atop the hearth with the strange black circles. She was moving along with the music. It seemed she did not follow any patterns, there were no steps nor claps. She only swayed her hips and moved as she seemed fit. Apparently she knew the song as she hummed along, underlining certain words by waving the wooden spoon in her hand about. He also noticed how her bare toes wiggled in rhythm to the music. Éomer watched her and a smile spread across his lips. He knew not why she was in such a jolly mood but it was contagious.

She grabbed a big silver kettle by both handles and turned around. Shrieking she dropped the kettle and it fell to the floor with a loud clang. Before Éomer had covered the the distance between them, Abigail cried out in pain and collapsed on the floor. She clutched her bare shin. Her breeches only came down to her knee so her skin had been exposed to the boiling water. Not until he hunched beside her did Éomer notice the white worm looking things that lay scattered about the floor.

' _This is what she was cooking? What in the light may this be?'_ he thought.  
It looked far from appetizing, in truth it looked like something he had seen the stable cat regurgitate at one point.

Abigail moaned and he tried to help her up. She was attempting to climb up onto the counter. Éomer could do nothing but assist though he saw no reasonable explanation. She sat down next to the basin and turned on the tap and let the water wash over her leg. She gave off a sound of contentment, as if the water lessened her pain, then she looked at him.

 _'Forgive me, I meant not to startle you._ _ **'**_ Éomer said and Abigail gave him a modest smile.  
Her cheeks took on a becoming blush as her gaze fell away. He felt like a true fool for having compromised her in such a manner. Sneaking up on a woman like he had was impolite at best. Sneaking up on a woman who had just experienced severe fright was not only tactless but cruel and he had caused her pain by being thoughtless. Her slight smile soon turned into a chuckle that broke into a heartfelt laughter. Éomer could not help but laugh with her. She gestured over the mess on the floor and laughed even more. He remembered his mother used to say 'The horse lost its shoe but still have its hoof.' and he figured this was one of those moments where it would apply.

After they had calmed themselves Éomer took hold of Abigail's foot to see how bad the water had burnt her leg above it. He was surprised by her dainty foot. His hands seemed enormous clutching it. It was so clean, as if she'd never walked on it and the nails were neither dirty, torn or grown. The skin had flared up and would in all likelihood be sore for a few days, though perhaps not blister. Her leg was sun kissed and smooth as silk. He felt her eyes upon him and looked up. They held each others gaze for only a short moment before Éomer cleared his throat and stepped away. Abigail busied herself with studying the burn. He turned to the mess on the floor and started by picking up the kettle that lay upside down. Then he attempted to gather up the worm like food and tossing it back into the kettle. Soon Abigail joined him, only after clicking the box on the windowsill to silence. She handed him a cloth and they wiped up the water.

After they had eaten what was left of their supper, a strange tasting meaty stew, they proceeded to her study where they could write each other. Éomer had now seen how easily startled she was, besides, she had been completely unaware of his presence. He had also noted her inability to heal herself. None of these things gave him any proof of sorcery. Once they were seated, he wasted no time.

'Are you a sorceress?' he spelled out, without care if it was blunt. Abigail chuckled.

'No.' she wrote.

'What of all the magic?'

'What magic?'

'The captured flames in the lanterns. The fire at your fingertips. The music in a box. This communication box. Your powerful weapon. All of it.'

'It is not magic.' she said. 'It is what this world is like. It is inventions. Like the wheel, or the horses reins.'

'How does it work?' he said. 'The lanterns? How do they work?'

'I cannot say.' she said. 'It is too complicated. Even if I understood fully, you would not. There are people who know and who creates them. I merely use them.'

This confused him.

'Would you know how to forge a good sword?' she wrote and continued. 'You know how to wield one. It's like that. Like saddlers and smiths, and bakers and weavers. They are masters of their crafts, and here people master other things as well.'

This made sense to Éomer. He knew not the first thing about weaving, yet he wore their fabrics.

'How are we going to get you home?' she wrote with a concerned look on her face.

'I'm going nowhere as long as there are orcs lurking in your woods. I brought them, I shall slay them.' he spelled out. He looked out the window and saw that dusk was settling.

'Night has come, and with it comes shadow creatures. I shall go and keep watch.'

Abigail offered a soft smile and a nod before he rose to once again put his armor on and spend the night outside.

Dusk turned into night. Éomer sat by the fire pondering this marvelous place. His view on it had began to change from a magical place to just another world like his own, only far more advanced. He started thinking about the battles he had fought. If he owned a weapon like Abigail's, how swift victory would be. Her father was a warrior. Did he fight with a gun and was there perhaps more of them out there? What if both sides of a battle would have one at their disposal? A battle where someone could stand form afar and send metal through the bodies of those who fought. Éomer could not quite picture how such a battle would play out. The more he thought on it, the less honorable it seemed. It was a weapon to Saruman's liking, not one for the men of the west.

He caught a movement in the corner of his eyes. He glanced over without turning his head. If there was trouble he did not want to reveal he had seen it just yet. There was no trouble, it was Abigail casting a shadow from where she stood in the window looking out at him. With the light coming from behind her he saw her as clear as day. He let his gaze linger on her for he knew he was disguised by night. Her hair was gathered in a messy knot atop her head and she had her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She was biting her lip and studying him. Éomer wished they had a better way of communicating. There was so much he wanted to know about her and her world. There was something about her that moved him. Perhaps was it the otherworldliness she possessed, that sorrow concealed behind her blue eyes. Perhaps that lingering smile she often wore on her lips.

Éomer may never have taken much interest in the ladies he had come across in his years. Some were mighty fine to rest one's eye upon, some had offered fine company for a night. One day he fancied he'd take himself a wife but no woman had ever made him wish he could see what lay behind whatever image she wished to display to the world. Abigail made him curious. He pushed the thought aside.

' _Hindrance breed desire,'_ he thought. ' _I meet a woman I cannot pursue and my mind goes there like a fly seeks out dung.'_ He cursed himself for not being above such nonsense. 

* * *

Abigail wrapped her blanket tighter around her shoulders. Her leg ached from the burn but it did not much bother her. She watched Éomer poke the fire to keep it burning. His face was shadowed but the fire painted his silhouette against the backdrop of night. He seemed even more massive when he wore his armor. Somehow he reminded her of her father. He had that calm demeanor one so often saw in soldiers. A mind molded by discipline and battered by brutality. She had made an absolute fool of herself earlier, throwing spaghetti around the kitchen and scolding herself in the process. He had almost scared her to death though by suddenly appearing in the corner of her eye. What must he think of her? Clumsy, frightened and inadequate. She knew all to well she would not have impressed her father with her behavior. Éomer raised a hand to her in acknowledgment. Before she knew it she ducked behind the curtains. It had not been her intention to let him see her, but he had.. And now she hid behind a curtain like some fool. She let out a low growl.

'Oh my god.' she whispered. 'What am I, twelve years old? She felt her cheeks flush.

'Why the hell did I do that Yoda?' she looked to the cat that lay on his side on the couch and watched her. As she spoke he turned away and tucked his paws in.

'Yeah, you're real supportive. You're welcome for your night snack by the way, don't mention it.'  
She scowled at the cat, knowing it was not his fault she had just embarrassed herself further. She could have waved back but she had felt so busted. As if her fingers had been in the cookie jar. Impulsion had made her duck, not logic, that much was clear.

She pondered her next move. She couldn't very well pass the window and catch Éomer's eye. Well she could, but she wanted nothing less than to remind him of her existence right now. As if not seeing her would make him forget her behavior. For a moment she thought she could sleep on the couch for the night and thus avoid him. Instead she decided to crouch down below the window and awkwardly half-crawl past it to make it into her bedroom. Once there she stood back up and shook her head.

' _I have lost my mind.'_ she thought. ' _What on earth am I doing?'_


	9. Chapter 9

The night passed without Éomer having to bury another orc. In truth it concerned him. He wished they would all show themselves so he can slay them and be done with it. He had vowed to stay here until he had annihilated any threat, a vow he was bound to keep. As the first sun rays reached over the horizon, he saw no movement from within the house. Abigail was still sleeping. Éomer did not want to disturb her, she needed her rest, even though day started with sunrise.

Instead of going inside, he made it for the stables once he'd put out the fire. He took off his armor and left it by the door to make it easier to work. He bid the horses a good morning, grabbed a brush then stepped into the mare's stall. He took his time with cleaning the dust of her body. He enjoyed the smell of the animal's warm skin and the lazy way she hung her head and relaxed told him that she enjoyed it too. He ran his hand down the mares leg, letting his fingertips examine every part of it for strains or parasites. Then he picked up her hoof. With his dagger he dug out the mud and dirt that she had trampled into it. So he proceeded with the rest of her before moving on to the gelding that was growing impatient. After he had made sure the horses were clean and well, he let them out into the enclosed pasture that lay behind the barn. The stable door he left open so he could keep an ear on them. Orcs were perhaps not all that active in the sunlight, but who know when they last found something to eat. Abigail's horses would not become and orc's meal on his watch.

The morning was growing warm as the sun rose, sweat trickled down his back as he carried loads of hay out to the pasture. He pulled his tunic over his head and hung it on one of the pasture posts before grabbing the shovel and entering the pasture to spread the horse dung out to lessen the attraction of insects. He took pleasure in the physical labor and time slipped away from him.

He did not stop until hunger penetrated his mind. He brought the horses back inside before returning to the house. He walked in, wiping his forehead dry with the tunic in his hand. Abigail who just stepped out of the kitchen froze when she saw him. Her eyes trailed down and then up again. He followed her gaze and noticed that his body was dirty from the work he had done. He tossed his tunic over the armrest of the sitting bench and then gestured over his dirty arms and pointed to the washroom with an excusing smile. Abigail only stared at him and gave an almost invisible nod. Éomer looked over his shoulder as he closed the door to the washroom and noticed her gaze was still upon him. He must have offended her senses with his filthy demeanor he thought, and was glad at how easy and comfortable one could wash in this place.

Clean and refreshed he returned to the common room and Abigail. Her eyes darted around the room and she fidgeted a piece of parchment in her hand. He raised his eyebrows at her as to ask what bothered her and her gaze fell to the floor and with a blush she stepped up and handed him the piece of parchment. Éomer put it aside while pulled his tunic on then unfolded the note.

She had written in elvish,

' _Going to the market. You stay. I will travel in a carriage you have never seen. Don't be alarmed.'_

She was right in that he had not seen any carriage at all at her farm. She grabbed hold of a bright colored leather bag and swung it around her shoulder. From a bowl atop the drawer she took a key and with that she was out the door. Some few minutes later Éomer heard a roar from the yard. He ran outside only to see Abigail roll down the road in a strange looking carriage indeed.

' _Don't be alarmed.'_ she'd said. Éomer stared after odd, roaring steel box she traveled in and decided to trust her.

* * *

Before heading into the store, Abigail pulled out her cellphone and checked her messages. There were none. Really the only person ever sending her any was her brother and she had hoped to find one. It had been over a week since he'd last gotten in touch. She'd been careful to use her phone around Éomer, just like she had resisted turning on the TV. She had also avoided the car but she was almost out of milk and bread by now. He had seemed so overwhelmed by things like a light switch, the stove and a bic lighter that she did not want to confuse him further.

She had thought about bringing him but had asked him to stay for the same reason. She was afraid he would be too overwhelmed, perhaps even causing people to react to him and if there was one thing she wished to avoid right now, it was questions. Then he had walked in on her. Shirtless and sheathed with sweat. Abigail's cheeks flushed at the memory of his hairy, muscular chest. Never in her life had she reacted so to a man. The sight of him felt like a punch in her stomach, it was all she could do not to flat out gape at him and he had stood there like he was completely unaware of the affect he had on her. She drew a deep breath as to erase any thought of a shirtless Éomer from her mind.

She walked around the store filling up her cart with food she thought they'd both like. She couldn't very well feed him cereal. Or at least she didn't think so so there were lots of meats and vegetables, and bread. He seemed to like bread with a thick layer of butter.

'Abigail!' the loud female voice made her look up from the freezer. It was Mrs Pesky. Or _Palleschi._ But Abigail had always called her Mrs Pesky in secret.

'How good to see you dear. How are you?'

The woman was beautiful, in an ostentatious way. Not yet forty she was always dressed in animal prints with jewelry that would put Mr T to shame. The woman didn't wait for Abigail to reply before she continued.

'Holly has been asking to go to the stables. You must tell me when you are able to have us over again?'

Holly, the woman's daughter came by for riding lessons about once every two weeks. Abigail had agreed simply because it gave her some extra and well needed cash.

'Well I am kind of preoccupied..' Abigail said.

'What of next week? Monday? Would Monday be good?'

Abigail's mind was racing, trying to come up with a good excuse.

'Splendid.' Mrs Pesky said. 'See you then dear!' and with that she was off, leaving Abigail flustered in the frozen food aisle.

 _'People are so insistent. Don't they care if they're a bother?'_ she thought as her hand clenched the handle of the cart.

As she drove up to the house, Éomer was sitting on the front steps awaiting her. As he lay eyes on the car he rose and came to greet her. She could tell he had showered while she was away cause his locks hung wet around his shoulders and he was once again dressed in the Adidas pants and Superman-t that she had loaned him and washed since he wore them last. They looked odd on him now she thought. After seeing him in his armor, nothing else really suited him. It was as if he was born to wear armor, not sportswear. He stopped at a safe distance away from the car, obviously wary of it and she parked it in front of the garage. He was there as soon as she stepped out, more comfortable now when the engine wasn't running. He peered into the car. He looked at the wheel, the pedals. She could she his mind working without being able to put the pieces together. She opened the trunk and started bringing the bags out. Soon he abandoned the inside of the car and came to take the bags away from her. He took them all, leaving her to carry only the keys in her hand.

Inside on the kitchen table she saw her childhood photo album laying open. After she had packed away the groceries, with some help from Éomer, though he mostly turned the things over in his hand, she walked over and ran her hand along the well thumbed pages of the album. Éomer looked at her, his face conveying uncertainty. She smiled at him, she did not mind that he had looked at her pictures. He pointed to a photograph where she was sitting in her fathers lap. She was five years old wearing her hair in pig tales. Her mother had taken it on their back porch during a 4th of July barbecue.

'That's me.' she said and pointed to herself. Éomer smiled, she guessed she had confirmed his suspicion.

'Oh, I know.' she said and ushered him along to the study. She dug around the desk until she found what she was looking for. She still had her father's old Polaroid camera and to her knowledge it still held film. With a firm grip on the camera, she got up close to Éomer and pointed for him to look to the lens, he was confused but obeyed. She snapped the picture and the camera spit out a blank paper that she snagged and waved about to make it dry faster. Éomer looked as he understood very little of what was going on.

Soon the outlines of the two of them became visible. She laid it on the desk and Éomer stared at it. She had to slap his hand away when he tried to touch it, it wasn't dry yet. Éomer stared at the photo as the picture emerged. His eyes grew wider by the second.

 _'Not too bad.'_ Abigail thought when she saw the result. She wasn't usually that photogenic but in this picture, she looked like herself, her smile was actually quite pretty.

Once the photo had dried she handed it to Éomer. His eyebrows rose and he pointed to himself as if to say ' _For me?'_ She nodded and smiled while insisting he kept the photo.


	10. Chapter 10

That afternoon, Abigail had taken him for a ride in her steel wagon. Éomer had gotten in and she had helped him secure a strap around his body. This had made him suspicious. He did not like to ride something you had to tie yourself down to. If one needed no straps atop horseback, why would one need in in this thing?

' _A horse may have a mind of its own, but this is clearly untrustworthy.'_ he thought.

She had turned the key and the wagon had roared. Soon they rolled down the road from the house. Éomer eyed everything. Wondering what forces pulled them forward. It had been slow at first. Then they had taken a turn onto a street that was paved with gray stone. Though he saw no cracks nor seams as far as he could tell. Before long they were shooting forward at an incredible speed. The trees outside the window became only a blur to Éomer. He held on for dear life and started feeling grateful that she had tied him to the seat. Abigail turned a knob and music came on. He felt his eyes grow wide. He no longer tried to make sense of all the strange things about this place. When one come across such magic as music coming from nowhere, or paintings being created without painter, one soon becomes jaded. Abigail broke out in a laugh when she saw what he could only assume was a horrified expression on his face. She sang along to the song. He understood none of it. She grimaced at him, curled her lip up on the one side and cocked her head while clearly imitating whoever was singing. Her voice could not possibly be as deep as she attempted, and he thought he would prefer her normal one in front of whatever this was supposed to be.

They dashed passed other houses and met other steel wagons along the road. They had burning lanterns in the front staring at them as they approached. Every time another one came Éomer's pulse increased. How did these things now where to go. Abigail was holding on to a wheel and she moved it slightly back and forth, except when they had first turned onto the road, then she had turned it almost full circle. He suspected that the wheel was this wagons reins or rudder, though he wasted no energy in trying to figure out how it worked.

They had covered many miles in a short time. Éomer thought they had moved at least twice the speed of a steed in full gallop. And a horse could only hold that speed for a very limited time, even a battle horse, yet this thing did not seem to tire. They must have driven in a circle because soon they slowed down, turned off the road and they were back at the house. Abigail turned the key once again and the roaring stopped. She smiled at him and helped him to get out of the strap. He got out without delay. It had been a long time since the son of the Riddermark had felt his knees weaken, but they did. If he could avoid it he would not get back into that thing. She had horses, light only knew why she didn't use them.

Abigail spoke and looked to the sky, he followed her gaze and noticed dark clouds rolling in above them. They may have outrun the rain in their wagon, but there was no escaping it now.

Once they were safely inside, the rain started pouring down. An hour went by and the rain would not ease. They shared supper and while they ate, thunder rolled in over the farm. When Abigail had finished cleaning off the table, the lights flickered and went out. The house went dark. She soon found the flashlight she kept in a drawer in the kitchen and lit it. Éomer flicked the light switch on the wall and she shook her head at him. How was she to explain that the power had gone out when she could not get her computer started? She lit all the candles she had out. It was not the first time she lost electricity out here and she was well prepared. Soon she had the fire burning in the fireplace as well. She did not much mind these days, she enjoyed the candle light and the disconnect. It gave her a feeling of living in a different time. She looked at Éomer, now seated on the couch by her.  
' _His kind of time..'_ she thought.

They sat in silence for awhile, there wasn't much else to do without the computer running. Soon Éomer started humming. His voice was dark and soft. The humming turned into song. He sang in his own tongue and the only words she was able to pick out were 'horse and rider.' and she thought she could hear a 'West' in there too. But it didn't matter to her. His song was beautiful and she only sat there, watching the shadows dance on his face.

A loud boom above their head made Abigail jump in her seat. She let out an involuntary squeal and it silenced Éomer's song. His attention shifted to the storm outside and she could see the corner of his mouth curve upward.

'I'm sorry..' she said, a little embarrassed that she had let thunder scare her so. He only took her hand in his and squeezed it while offering her smile. It was strange how well it worked. The thunder disappeared from her mind as her gaze fell on his calloused hand atop her own. It was warm.  
 _'How could such a warm hand so easily have slain a creature?'_ she thought. _'How can a hand that grips a sword so forcefully be so tender?'  
_ He pulled away and though his warmth lingered, she found herself missing his touch.

When afternoon had turned into evening, they had been forced to head outside in the dreadful weather. The horses had waited too long for their food and Abigail could not let them starve because of her own unwillingness to get wet and cold. Crossing the yard had been enough to leave them both soaked to the skin. Water trickled down their faces as they loaded the hay into the stalls. The horses were stirring. Tossing their heads high in the air and ignoring the food that was offered.

'Orcs.' Éomer whispered.

Abigail would never had remembered to bring her gun had Éomer not insisted. She was grateful for it now as she pulled it out and cocked the hammer. At the same time, Éomer unsheathed his sword. He gestured for her to wait as he carefully opened the barn door to peak outside. The dark clouds let no moonlight through and the yard lay veiled in darkness. Abigail's blood rushed in her ears and she could hear her own heart pounding. She gripped the gun so hard in her hand she thought her her fingers would go numb. All she could think was a long string of curse words that would have outdone that of any old sailor.

With his sword raised, Éomer stepped outside. Abigail hesitated behind him. As he got to the middle of the yard his voice bellowed between the trees. She knew not what he was saying but she guessed he asked the beasts to reveal themselves. Before long she could make out the shuffling of feet, though the rain muffled most of it. Éomer was soon surrounded by three revolting creatures. One howled and soon there was a loud clashing of steel. Abigail lifted the gun and aimed it at the one who stood with its back towards her. It was not all that easy, aiming through the dreary night but once she was sure Éomer was out of the way she fired. She missed. The only thing she accomplished was bringing attention to herself. The orc turned around and leaped towards her. Without delay she fired once more and the bullet went into the ground by the feet of the approaching enemy. Drawing a quick but deep breath she steadied her hand, she knew better than to fire in a frenzy. She pulled the trigger and the orc plunged face first into the mud but a few yards from where she stood in the doorway. She wasted no time but raised the gun once more. Éomer drove his sword into one and the gurgling noise that followed made her stomach turn. She stepped outside to get a better chance at a clear shot at the last attacker.

Only a few steps out she froze by the sound of a snarl in her ear. A fourth orc materialized from the shadows to her left. In complete panic she fired the gun towards it but missed, soon the gun only clicked in her hand. She was out of bullets. Tossing it aside she ran back to the doorway. Right inside was the shovel, she'd seen it earlier. Just as she wrapped her hand around the handle, she felt the orc wrap its hand around her ankle. She tore it loose and turned around, wielding the shovel. The orc was crawling on the ground. One of the bullets had caused damage. She brought the shovel up over her head and slammed it as hard as she could over the head of the snarling beast. It squealed from the blow but she gave it no time to further react before she stroke again, and again. The orc had long since stopped moving when Éomer's firm grip on her arm hindered yet another blow.

He bent the shovel out of her grip and tossed it to the ground. Her whole body was trembling as she watched the rain dilute the dark blood that was gushing from the carcass at her feet. A whimper escaped her as she tried to back away from the carnage she had caused but he would not let her. He embraced her and forced her face against his chest so that she could no longer see that which shook her to her core and he hushed her.

* * *

The woman in his arms was close to hysterical. He held her firmly, hoping she would calm her senses. Women were made to give life, not take it and he now held the confirmation to his belief. She whimpered and he stroke her sodden hair. He would not bury the orcs tonight, but he must move them out of sight. He sat Abigail down on the doorstep and she soon clung to the door frame. Inside the barn he spotted a horse blanket hanging over a sawhorse that he grabbed and wrapped around her. She kept crying, hiding her face in the crease of her arm, refusing to look.

Éomer dragged each of the dead bodies by their feet and piled them up behind the woodshed, making sure they were not visible from the yard. The rush of battle was wearing off and the cold of the rain was beginning to seep through his very skin. Once he finished, Abigail still leaned up against the door frame, the sobbing had faded and now she only hung her head. She looked tired and forsaken in the dim light of the lantern above the door. He helped her to her feet.

'Come now.' he said and took a firm grip around her waist. 'We must get you warm.' She made no resistance as he led her back to the house.

Once inside he gathered a big, soft wiping cloth from the washroom. Tossing the wet horse blanket to the floor he led her to the still burning hearth. He wiped the rain from her face and wrapped it around her shoulders while he tried to rub some warmth into her. Her eyes finally met his. She took hold of the cloth and lifted it from her shoulders. She attempted to get it over his, only he had to lean down for her to reach. She placed it over his head and rubbed his hair. Once his face emerged from the tangle of hair and cloth he could see a smile on her face. She had calmed down and she had made an even bigger mess of his hair but that did not become him. With a tender hand to his chest he believed she was thanking him before she headed off to the washroom. After the door had closed behind her he heard the water from the tap on the wall pour into the tub and he too longed to wash both battle and cold off himself.

The water had not been as warm as he had hoped, but not yet cold. Perhaps it had something to do with all the lights being out as well, he thought. Dry, clothed only in his linen breeches and by far warmer than he had been, he stepped out of the washroom. On the padded bench sat Abigail. She was wearing a tunic like the one she had loaned him, only this one was red with a yellow lightning bolt across a white circle. He had forgotten to ask what the crest meant and now she was wearing a different one. Seemed odd if it was in fact a family crest. She rose when she saw him and he noticed now that though the tunic was long, it failed to cover her knees. Abigail seemed unfazed by it, still Éomer made an effort not to look at the woman's bare skin. Her hair had begun to dry and pulled up in full, sweeping curls over her shoulders. With big eyes she studied him for a moment before she reached out her hand and he took it. She led him into her chamber. He had never been there before. A man had no business in a ladies private rooms, less he indeed had just that, but that was usually in chambers very unlike this one. He stepped into a lady's room indeed. Drapery of fine lace hung in the window. A blanket with embroidered roses covered the bed with posts of white painted wrought iron. Abigail walked around the bed and swiftly slid under the cover while he just stood there, not quite knowing what to do. She patted the bedside where he stood, inviting him to join her. Éomer felt his heart race.

' _Does she..wish..?'_ he dared not finish the thought. Abigail looked at him, her face pleading in a rather more desperate than lustful way. Then she laid down with her back to him.

' _She doesn't wish to sleep alone tonight.'_ he thought and after only a moments hesitation, he laid down behind her. Improper as it may be, leaving her to her fright seemed worse. He lay at as decent of a distance the bed permitted, watching her shoulders rise and sink. Her hair fell over her pillow and revealed only the slightest sliver of delicate, soft looking skin on her neck. As her breathing became heavier he soon felt her small hand searching for his. When she found it she grasped it and pulled his arm around herself as if he was a blanket that would shield her from all evil. The distance between them thus lessened and he could feel her body heat radiating from her. When her heavy breathing turned into soft snores, Éomer too allowed himself to drift off to sleep.


	11. Chapter 11

The heat of the sun fell on his face and brought Éomer out of his slumber. Abigail lay curled up in his arms, her face tucked in his chest. He lay still, afraid to move a muscle. The scent of her curls that spilled over his arm reached his nose. As he lay there, breathing in the warmth of her he felt her eyelashes bat against his arm. She had awoken, but like him she remained still. He found himself wishing that the moment would not pass. Before long she stirred in his arms though and the moment was over. Her blue eyes peeked up at him and as their eyes met, she covered her face with her hand. Rosy spots appeared on her cheek and neck, yet she did not pull away. Éomer could not resist. He stroke aside a lock of hair that fell down her face and then tenderly moved her hand away.  
She once more looked up at him. Her gaze cast a spell on him and he could do nothing, nor did he wish to defend himself against her power.

There was a knock on the door and in an instant their moment was shattered. Abigail flung herself out of bed and threw an eye at the clock on her bedside table. It was almost noon. Another knock came, this time more vigorous. Abigail tossed a t-shirt to Éomer while snatching her jeans that hung over a chair.

'Yoohoo, Abigail are you in there?'

It was Mrs Pesky's voice.

'Shit shit shit shit.' Abigail murmured as she buttoned the jeans, took a quick look in the mirror and made a futile attempt at taming her morning hair.

'Abigail?' the woman called followed by yet another knock.

Abigail drew a deep breath, threw a look over her shoulder and saw a clothed Éomer emerge from the bedroom and opened the front door.

' Mrs Palleschi,' Abigail said with a forced smile. 'What can I do for you?'

'Oh hello dear, I hope I'm not intruding.'

 _'Like you care.'_ Abigail thought.

'You see we were in the neighborhood and Holly really wanted to say hello to the horses. Would that be ok with you?'

'Well Mrs Palleschi,' Abigail began. 'You see this isn't really a good time...'

'Oh,' the woman interrupted. 'Oh I'm so sorry, I did not realize you had company...'

Mrs Pesky's eyes looked beyond Abigail and into the house. The woman's lips turned into a smile that Abigail could only resemble with a cat who just spotted a prey. Abigail turned around and behind her stood Éomer.

'Ah yes..' Abigail said, trying to fix the woman with her gaze but Mrs Pesky's eyes kept darting over her shoulder, surveying the man behind her. 'Like I said this isn't a good time. You know I wouldn't usually mind..'

The woman paid no heed to what she was saying instead she interrupted.

'Aren't you going to introduce me to your.. friend?' she said without taking her eyes of Éomer.

Abigail sighed.

'Of course Mrs Palleschi. This is..uhm.. this is.. Éomer.' she said and cursed herself for not coming up with some other name on the spot. _'Peter would have done, or James, or Steven..'_ she thought.

'Éomer..' Mrs Pesky said. 'What an unusual name.' she reached out her hand to him. 'I'm Caroline.'

Éomer having heard his name took her hand, kissed it and gave her a bow whereupon the woman's slight smile turned into a grin.

'Yes, Éomer.' said Abigail. 'He is.. he is..' Abigail had never been a master of thinking on her feet.

'Yes?' the woman said with a raised eyebrow.

'He is.. my cousin.' Abigail said at last.

'Well it is very nice to meet you, Éomer.' said Mrs Pesky whereas Éomer's eyes sought Abigail's. He didn't understand what the woman was saying.

'Uhm, he's not from here.' said Abigail. 'He's from.. He's from.. Estonia. He doesn't speak English.'

Mrs Pesky studied him for a moment.

'I thought your family was British?'

'Yeah well, we are. They are. Except, some.. obviously.' Abigail stammered.

'Hm. Estonia? Well I've always heard they were blond, tall and gorgeous up there in the north. Guess it is true.' Mrs Pesky said with a sly smile and a twinkle in her eye that made Abigail's skin crawl.

'Yes so I am sorry Mrs Palleschi, but right now is not a good time. Like I said, I usually wouldn't mind but uhm..'

'Oh no of course dear. I understand. It was rude of me to stop by unannounced like this. It's just that Holly begged me and, well I have nothing on that sweet little angel of mine..'

Abigail smiled and began to close the door.

'See you Monday. Hopefully both of you.' Mrs Pesky squeezed in before the door closed near her face.

'I'm sorry about that.' Abigail said with a bothered smile, while trying to get her curls to stay behind her ear. Not that he understood but she couldn't help apologizing. He just stood there, watching her but her eyes fell away.

'Breakfast.' she murmured and brushed passed him into the kitchen. Éomer sat down by the table as she started preparing a light meal for them. He watched her every move and Abigail grew nervous under his scrutiny. She dropped the butter knife, not once but twice out, almost spilled the milk and slammed her toe in the counter and she blamed it all on him. She hadn't meant to snuggle up with him like that, but she wouldn't deny that she had enjoyed waking up in such a fashion. The feeling of his hairy chest seemed to linger on her fingertips. Had that horrid woman not shown up to ruin everything.. Abigail had to push the thought out of her mind if she did not want her cheeks to turn a scarlet red in front of him.

After the awkward meal they had gone outside to get some chores taken care of. Abigail headed to the stable and Éomer was going to take care of the dead orcs he had piled behind the woodshed. Abigail did not mind not participating. She would rather forget it ever happened. So the day went on. She seemed to have lost all grace if she'd ever had one and he seemed to have his eyes fixed on her any time she looked his way. This way he did not miss out on anything she did, to her great dismay. Any time she tried to focus on something, the thought of him came creeping up on her and she lost any concentration and turned into a clumsy fool.

They kept busy throughout the day, both it seemed avoiding circumstances that would leave them in awkward silence. Not until late evening did they bring their tea into her study and sat down in front of the computer. Abigail hesitated before she typed,

 _'Thank you. I did not want to sleep alone.'_

 _'I know.'_ Éomer replied and offered a smile. She gathered courage before simply typing,

 _'Forgive me.'_

Éomer lay his hand on her shoulder and looked her deep in the eyes. He did not spell anything at all, but his eyes conveyed what she had hoped he would. There was nothing to forgive. She was nonetheless relieved to have said it and thus gotten it out of the way. She bit her lip before typing the one thing that grew more and more disheartening for her to think about.

 _'You must return home.'_

Éomer nodded and it felt like a dagger to her heart. She looked away so that he would not see the tears that welled up in her eyes. He must leave her, she knew that, but over these last few days she had ignored that notions and she was starting to grow accustomed to his presence. She was starting to cherish it. How dreary her life seemed without him now. Éomer's took a tender hold of her chin and forced her to look at him. His calloused thumb traced the line of her bottom lip and he offered her a slight smile, likely supposed to be encouraging. She leaned into his touch and closed her eyes. A tear escaped and he wiped it away.

A loud clang came from the kitchen, it made Abigail jump and Éomer was on his feet before she had opened her eyes. He gestured for her to stay put and with soft, silent steps he crossed the living room. He snatched up his sword that stood prodded against the couch and unsheathed it as quietly as he could manage before entering the kitchen. Soon he reappeared in the kitchen doorway, holding Yoda the cat by the scruff. Yoda glared at him with obvious indignation.

 _'Oh for heaven's sake.'_ Abigail thought. This was the second time today they'd been interrupted in a moment she very much would have liked to experience. There was no going back from there, just like there had been no going back from the impromptu visit by that gaudy woman. The evening was growing late anyway so they prepared for bed and said good night.

* * *

Éomer could hear Abigail stir in her bed. He lay tucked in on the couch once again where he fought Yoda for space. He had not invited the furry little creature to share his bed and had no intention of letting the cat get his way. It had turned into a battle of wills and Éomer found himself yielding in an embarrassingly short amount of time. While the cat tucked in between his feet with a victorious look in his yellow eyes, Éomer tucked his arm under his head and studied the ceiling. Sleep was far away from him.

The sound of naked feet on the floor brought him out of his reverie. Abigail emerged in the doorway. She stood there, wearing nothing but very short breeches, perhaps only undergarments and a snug top held up over her shoulders by thin laces. She bit her lip and her eyes fell to the floor. Éomer sat up and had to swallow to gather himself at the sight of her. She glanced at him before turning around and disappearing back into her chamber. After only slight hesitation, Éomer got up and went after her. What was it that had brought her to him and what made her change her mind?

Abigail sat on her bed, fidgeting with the hem of her top and refusing to look at him as he stepped into her room. Éomer knelt before her, took her hands in his to make her stop fussing then searched out her eyes. He brushed away a stray hair from her face and left his hand resting upon her cheek. Her blue eyes like deep pools of wonder again cast a spell on him. He slid his hand behind her neck and pulled her closer. Abigail let him, she showed no hesitation when his lips met hers. Her hands rested on his chest as he grabbed hold of her waist and pushed her up along the bed. The brown curls cascaded over the pillows and he kissed her cheek, her neck. He ran his hands along her soft, warm skin and the smell of her drove him to the brink of insanity.

In the darkest hours of night they made love. As the moon descended to the west they made love again. Éomer drank every drop of her. It was as if he had been burning in the fires of Mt Doom and she was water. Pleasing her was the greatest victory he had ever gained and this night would offer a dawn he wish would delay.


End file.
